


To Be Alone

by outintheworld



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sad, i don't even know what this is, just thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:51:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outintheworld/pseuds/outintheworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not love. It’s a game. And Harry won't lose to <em>him</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks St. Gabs for betaing this little shit! :)

It’s not love. It’s a game. Don’t lose to _him_.

Harry repeats it like a prayer to himself for the thousandth time right after _he_ leaves. Right after _he_ goes to her, and Harry’s left alone with an empty bed that suddenly feels too big just for him.

 _His_ faint scent lingers on the bed-sheets, a mix of cigarette smoke and sex, and it serves as a reminder to Harry. A reminder that _he’s_ not all there, that _he_ never was, that _he_ never will be. A reminder that this is not love, this is a game. Harry won’t lose to _him_. Harry can’t lose to _him_.

And Harry won’t say _his_ name either. Not alone. Not in the dark. Because the dark knows many of Harry’s secrets, knows too much. And saying it makes it real. Makes real the fact that Harry thinks of _him_ , and _his_ dark hair, and _his_ sharp cheek bones, and those whisky eyes Harry could get drunk off for the rest of his life… every other night, most nights, all nights.

And it’s not fair. The game is not fair, not anymore. Because where Harry gets ten minutes of rushed moaning in a supply closet, she gets to hold _his_ soft hand. Where Harry gets just a look, a look full of things _he_ won’t say out loud, she gets all the time in the world to hold _him_ close. And Harry should really hate her, and her blonde hair, and her blue eyes, and the fact that she can give _him_ all the things Harry can’t, all the things Harry wishes he could. But Harry can’t hate her, because she’s too bright, too bubbly, too kind, and kind people don’t deserve Harry’s hate, she doesn’t deserve Harry’s hate.

So Harry just ignores. Ignores the slow burn of _his_ name getting branded on Harry’s soul. Ignores the sharp pain every time _he_ gets up from bed in a rush to call her. Ignores how seeing them together makes Harry’s stomach screw in a painful way. Ignores the desperate need to scream _thee_ three words to _him_ when they lock eyes during sex.

Harry ignores them because he has to, because he has to lie to himself one more time about what this is, even though deep down _he_ knows, Harry knows.

This is love.

And it’s still a game.

But Harry already lost.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Um, I really don't know what this is. It just came to me and I had to write it down.  
> You could say this is a small glimpse of Harry's side in **Sit there in you heartache.**  
> .  
>  Maybe I'll delete this later. Don't know
> 
> (The tittle's from Hozier's song of the same name)


End file.
